


Through the Years

by hippocrates460



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based on a prompt I can't find the link to anymore, Driving home for Christmas, If The Fates Allow, M/M, Through the snow, all the Christmas cliches, soft domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 06:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16827214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: Mycroft and Greg drive up North for Christmas.





	Through the Years

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt:  
> This story takes place in the car  
> You must mention ice  
> Use the word ‘fairylights’  
> And include this line of dialogue: ‘this is giving me a headache.’
> 
> If anyone knows who suggested this prompt, let me know!
> 
> Thank you to the organizers of the Mystrade Holiday Advent, next year we'll all join in again!

“Greg,” Mycroft urges, and Greg startles. It’s getting really very late and he’s been driving for a while, he’d gotten a bit lost in the road and the lights and the rhythm of cars. “Greg, can we please change the music? This is giving me a headache.”

“Sure, love,” Greg switches the radio off. “Pick anything on my phone.”

“I miss our apartment,” Mycroft sighs, and he leans back into his seat. The seat heater on his side is turned all the way up and he’s scrolling through Greg’s Spotify. “Christmas Peaceful Piano?”

“That sounds nice.” Greg soothes, placing a hand on Mycroft’s thigh briefly before he has to switch lanes to avoid a large truck. These roads have no business being so busy at night. “I’d prefer to be in front of the fire having some wine.”

“Turn on the fairylights,” Mycroft muses. “We have the perfect Christmas tree, I can’t see why we have to leave it and go be merry with family.”

Greg snorts, “you know you don’t want to tell my mother we’re not coming.”

“Oh you’re right,” Mycroft promises, placing his hand on Greg’s thigh. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Greg promises, squeezing the cold hand, “try to sleep some more.”

Mycroft shuffles around a bit and leans his head against the door so he can look at Greg. They drive on silently through the night for while longer, until Greg realizes he’s being stared at.

“What?”

“I’m being whiny,” Mycroft sighs, “and you’re lovely.”

Greg turns his head a little to look at Mycroft, who has a contemplation face on. He smiles when he sees Mycroft is genuinely worried. “You’re alright,” he promises, “the way you’ve been working it’s no wonder you’re a bit at the end of it.”

“And all the way to your sister’s too.”

“I told my parents I preferred their place, but you know how it is with the kids.”

“Yes.” Mycroft nods and Greg can see it from the corner of his eye.

“Why don’t you take my coat,” he suggests, “keep you warm. Have a kip if you can or a rest if you can’t.”

Mycroft leans over to the seats in the back and comes back with both his own coat and Greg’s. He may think he’s being inconspicuous but Greg sees him inhaling into his coat anyway. He wraps himself up, sends the chair back and down a little further. “I’m not sure I’ll sleep.”

“That’s fine,” Greg tries to keep his voice low so that it doesn’t disturb the feeling of cottony safety inside the car. “We can play I spy.”

“Careful,” Mycroft threatens. “I’ll start singing along to your music.”

“Oh no,” Greg is laughing now, “pass me a sandwich and the tea if you’re bored.”

“Your majesty,” Mycroft makes a little bow as well as he can while sitting down, but he rummages around in the bag at his feet. They share a sandwich and empty out a thermos. It’s like fancy stakeout food, and even more so when Mycroft pulls out a bag of smoky almonds. “There’s crisps, or dried fruit, if you’d prefer.”

“No this is good,” Greg promises. “Did I ever tell you about the sergeant I had when I first started in the force? I used to tag along to stake-outs with him...” He checks to his side. As predicted Mycroft is nodding off.

“And he’d buy us smoky almonds. Not the fancy ones of course, but they always remind me of horrible coffee and staring at a green door for a whole night.”

Within minutes, Mycroft is softly snoring. Every now and then Greg looks over to see if he’s comfortable, pulling the coat up a little more, tucking his hands in so he’ll keep warm. Mycroft has always run cold.

Right before they turn off the motorway, Greg takes Mycroft’s hand and squeezes it a little. “Mycroft,” he whispers. “We’re close.”

Mycroft blinks himself awake and looks around, very displeased. His cheeks are pink from sleep and as he yawns and winces Greg realizes he must taste awful. He feels a great sense of privilege to be allowed to see Mycroft like this, and hands him a bottle of water before indicating and making his turn.

“Do you think there’ll be ice?” Mycroft asks, when he notices the snow next to the roads.

“Maybe,” Greg takes Mycroft’s hand and puts it back on his leg. “But I think I recall someone telling me that this is the safest car currently on the market.”

Mycroft sniffles. “Must’ve been your father.”

“Must’ve,” Greg agrees, unable to stop himself grinning. “Do we need a game plan?”

“Oh,” Mycroft squeezes Greg’s leg. “I think I’ll be alright, it’s not my first time. Thank you for asking.”

“We’ll do the usual then,” Greg offers. “Me in the kitchen, you defeating a team of four at chess. Then we’ll have one drink.”

“Mycroft works very hard,” Mycroft says, not quite managing Greg’s DI-in-charge tone, “I’ll just go see him off upstairs.”

“And then we’ll not come back ‘till morning...”

“And they’ll all tease us at breakfast,” Mycroft finishes.

“That’s my favourite part,” Greg decides.

“Your nieces with glowing red ears and your father close to a heart attack with how hard he’s laughing?”

“Nah,” Greg turns around and grins, and he knows Mycroft already knows, “falling asleep early with you.”

They’re in the driveway now. There’s light shining out of the house, everyone else is here already, judging by the cars. One last kiss before Greg’s mum comes out and demands they come admire this year’s knitting.


End file.
